The Highway
by alimison
Summary: Mary Bennet's daughter, hardly a carbon copy of her mother, is about to stir up trouble once again when she refuses to marry the man her parents have chosen for her.
1. Chapter One

Chapter One  
  
Harriet Stevenson was not one who had much appreciation for the sitting- around-doing-embroidery-and-getting-dull-husbands that was expected of her sex. Ever since she had broken the pattern of boys, boys, boys in the Stevenson family, she had continued to break all the ideals her parents held to be important. Children should be seen and not heard. Females are destined for marriage and therefore must be as pure, unspoilt and innocent as possible. Girls are not entitled to the same liberties as boys are. Little girls should never play with little boys. Big girls should never play with big boys. Almost-women should never even talk to almost-men unless under strict supervision.  
  
It must be said now that the Stevenson family did have a reputation for being high-sticklers over moral ground, with the exception of Harriet. When ultra-chaste Mary Bennet met super-virtuous William Stevenson, it was a match made in heaven, as they call it. A complete lack of romance coupled with a good serving of self-righteousness meets a steadfast belief in one's own generosity and perfection and just like that, two people know they are meant for each other. The Stevenson's married soon after they met and embarked on what they saw as the exemplary Christian lifestyle, churning out boy after boy, each as dull as their parents - until Harriet came along and ruined everything the Stevenson's had worked for.  
  
Ah, those poor Stevenson's! The work they had put into their image as the most moral family in the area was forever destroyed when their little girl with the flashing eyes first made her present felt in the previously calm little village of Hawley, in northern Surrey. Mrs Stevenson had always felt an apprehension regarding her only daughter after nine sons. Surely such inexhaustible, furious screaming had to give away the naturally wicked soul of a baby? Surely when a child's first word was "Won't" rather than "Mama", it indicated the already abandoned state the particular child's soul was in? And surely when a ten-year-old child threw her embroidery in the fire and ran away to go swimming with her little friend, (who was, incidentally, a male), it was impossible for such a mother to withhold from feeling deeply alarmed at the path her evidently slatternly daughter seemed to be taking? And what mother could thus refrain from treating such a child a little harshly, or always taking her to task for her wretched disregard of all the Stevenson's held dear? Indeed, if such a mother naturally loved her daughter a little (or even a lot) less than all her sons, who could blame her?  
  
Harriet, now aged seventeen, was still as terribly thoughtless as to the rules as she had ever been. Although her best friend was no longer a male, she ran off to be with her male friends as often as she could escape from the small Stevenson house. She was extremely hard to find on a Sunday morning, and refused to even shake the hand of the man her parents had intended her for since the cradle. (Of course Harriet could hardly be blamed by anyone of sensibility - the young man in question, Rupert Porker, was an absolute dolt, although doubtless very respectable.) Harriet had always been pretty, but very recently she had become veritably stunning - now yet another characteristic which caused her poor parents many sleepless nights. Those same flashing emerald eyes she had had since birth were set off by curly raven-black hair, a nose that could be boasted about, and a faultless figure. In fact, she was so wonderful to look at compared to her nine rather podgy and slow brothers that in moments of extreme stupidity, (which were not uncommon), her father wondered if she was actually his. As well as all this, she was cursed (in her parents' opinion) with a remarkably quick mind which manifested itself, most of the time, in rude retorts to them, and in ingenious ways to escape things she didn't want to do.  
  
Only four of the Stevenson offspring lived at home still - Thomas, Richard, Walter and Harriet. Thomas was soon to be married, and it was very clear that Dick and Walter were soon to be engaged. Not through their own choice - oh no, not at all! - Miss Cornish and Miss Porker had been intended for them since birth, just as Harriet had been intended for Rupert Porker. But they were slow lads, without much mental power between them, and without the least hint of romance, and they were quite content living life doing what their parents told them. All their elder brothers had married particular girls on their parents' orders and been quite happy (even if their wives were not) and produced a satisfactory amount of children so far.  
  
One night as Mr and Mrs Stevenson lay in bed, the former said to the latter, "My dear - I cannot help thinking that Harriet is rather against marrying Rupert Porker."  
  
Mrs Stevenson sighed. "Yes, I know, and I am sure I have no idea what is to be done."  
  
Mr Stevenson thought laboriously for a few minutes. "We could marry them off now?"  
  
"My dear sir, how could it be done? You know Harriet is wretchedly clever and would probably find some way of getting out of it."  
  
"We won't tell her about it!" said Mr Stevenson gleefully, animated at the thought of getting rid of their biggest problem. "We'll organise everything ourselves, take Harriet to the church, and marry them before she can say nay!"  
  
Mrs Stevenson was concerned. "I rather think, my dear husband, that Harriet would refuse to say 'I do.' Shocking, I know, but as her mother, I know her unfortunate wicked ways intimately, and I cannot place reliance on her acquiescence in the matter."  
  
"True," said Mr Stevenson, worriedly. He thought again. "I say, Mary my dear, this probably sounds disgracefully romantic, but do you think we could lock her up?"  
  
"Whatever do you mean?"  
  
"Lock her up, and give her the choice of remaining in that room for the rest of her life, or marrying Rupert Porker."  
  
"Goodness me!" said Mrs Stevenson. "It sounds very dramatic." Mrs Stevenson did not much approve of the dramatic.  
  
"Well, my dear, I cannot see what else is to be done. Her disgraceful behaviour continues to shame us, and I would rather see her married, and someone else's problem, or locked up all her life, than see her run off with some man with no connections and shame us still more. You tried sending her off to your sister at Pemberley seven years ago, but she just came back worse. I do not know what else we can do."  
  
"That is very true," said Mary, struck for the first and last time in her life by a semi-romantic idea. "You know, sir, I do begin to think that maybe you have had a very good idea!"  
  
"Ah, well," said Mr Stevenson, going red and breathing heavily, "you know I am very thoughtful."  
  
"Yes, my dear, that you are."  
  
And so it happened one day that Harriet found herself called up to the stairs by her mother, who was strangely red. "What is it?" she said.  
  
"My dear Harriet, you should not speak like that. It does not befit a girl of your age."  
  
"Tosh," said Harriet rudely, and began to walk down the stairs.  
  
"Harriet, come back here!" said her mother firmly. On getting no reply, she tried again. "Harriet, I have some material here I would like you to choose from for a dress!"  
  
That worked the trick. Harriet, whom her mother knew was very vain, turned around at once, and came back up the steps. "Where?"  
  
"In this room here."  
  
Harriet looked inside. She could see a bed, and a piano, ('why a piano?' she thought), but she could see no dress material. "Where is it?"  
  
"Step inside," her mother urged. "You'll see it then."  
  
With another mistrustful glance, Harriet stepped inside. Mrs Stevenson slammed the door with a clang and locked it. A rush of emotions threatened to overcome Harriet - what on earth was going on? "Mother? Mother!" she called through the door.  
  
"I'll be back shortly, Harriet," was the only reply.  
  
Harriet pushed and shoved at the door in vain - Mr Stevenson had just that morning installed several new locks. "What are you doing?" she screamed. "Let me out, let me out, let me out!!"  
  
She sunk down on the bed when nothing happened, and waited with a scowl on her face, glancing round at the barred windows.  
  
Finally, her mother came back to the room with her father, and a servant. They slid open a panel in the door that now had bars over it. Harriet immediately started screaming and swearing at them, demanding explanations and to be let out at once. They waited until she had finished, and then her father spoke. "Harriet, please understand we are only doing this because we love you and truly want the best for you." He actually believed this now, having convinced himself of it the night he and his wife had decided what had to be done.  
  
"Like hell you do," spat Harriet.  
  
Rapidly Mr Stevenson's love for his daughter diminished. "Listen, you cheeky little slattern, you have two choices. To stay locked in this room for the rest of your life, or to marry Rupert Porker."  
  
Harriet listened in disbelief. "What?" she whispered.  
  
"Harriet, if you refuse to allow us to make the best choices for you, we will have to force you to accept them," said her mother. "Surely you must wish to be married?"  
  
"You have got to be teasing me," said Harriet desperately, although she knew quite well that the concept of 'joking' was foreign to her parents.  
  
"Here is some food," said her mother, and the servant passed a plate through a flap in the door. "We will give you some time to consider."  
  
The panel slid shut. Harriet threw a book they had left for her at the door; it was Fordyce's Sermons, and to her pleasure broke at the spine as it hit the door. She threw another similarly morally-uplifting book on the floor and put her head in her hands. For once, Harriet's normal adroitness had failed her at the unexpected ridiculousness of her parents' plans. She gritted her teeth. Was she as stupid as them? Obviously it seemed so to her for a while. But Harriet Stevenson was not one to sit around and mope when things were beginning to look desperate - oh, no! Instead, she threw a few more books around the room, managed to tip her jug of water out through the bars onto the treacherous servant who had aided and abetted Mother and Father's dastardly game, and sat down and thought.  
  
So, they were going to make her marry that fool, or force her to live in this room for the rest of her life. They couldn't be so stupid that they truly believed they could keep her there forever. However, forever didn't seem much worse than several years or even several months in her angered state of mind, and they could probably manage to keep her there for at least a significant period. She racked her brains. Right now, she was so distressed and furious that thoughts were not running through her head in that orderly way she was used to. She stood, and picked up the meal on the floor, and started to eat. Starving herself would make an impression, yes, but she was hungry, and besides, she didn't want to get too thin. It was so unfashionable.  
  
As the food passed through her mouth and into her system, she found herself able to think much more clearly. There is something very normal about beef stew and potatoes that helps one feel much more normal in an abnormal situation. So, it looked like she was to stay in here; they were to pass in food through the flap in the door, until she, mentally exhausted, gave in and married Rupert Porky, as she and her friends called him - even her best friend, Julia, who happened to be his sister. It shouldn't be too hard to think of a way to escape, she knew. Her parents were so stupid that she would be surprised if they managed to keep the door locked for two days. However, she couldn't rely on that, and Harriet walked over to the window to see if there was any possibility of escape through that way. The window itself only opened a little, and the bars refused to wobble even a little as she shook them hard. So that would not be a possibility. Too bad, because she had climbed out her bedchamber window many times, although her parents didn't know it.  
  
Next she had a look at the locks on the door. They seemed to be perfectly tight. She looked around the room. There was a shelf full of books, (all moral or educational, of course - Mrs Stevenson would die before allowing those scandalous tools of Satan which call themselves 'novels' in her house), a piano, as mentioned before, a bed with all the normal items of furniture around it. Obviously she was supposed to spend her time in here in an uplifting manner. She had never taken to music, so could not understand why the piano was there, and was disappointed to see that there were no tools there for the only thing she was good at - drawing. She would have to be polite next time she saw somebody and beg for some pencils or paints.  
  
And so - it looked like there was no way out through the obvious ways alone. She would have to think. She lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling above, racking her brains until some semblance of ideas started to form. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

"Good evening, Harriet." The panel slid open for the first time since that afternoon.

"Father," she said, coming to the door with eyes red. "What must I do to get out of here?"

He was pleased to see so humble a response. "We have told you already, Harriet, you must be a good girl and marry Rupert Porker."

"Must – must I?" whispered Harriet.

"Yes, Harriet."

Harriet sniffed again, looking away, and pretended to wipe her clouding eyes of tears. "I don't want to marry Rupert Porker, Father."

"He is a perfectly respectable young man, Harriet, and certainly much too good for you," her father said sternly.

Harriet managed not to laugh out loud. "I know, Father. I – I have been very wicked, have I not?"

"I must say you have, dear," said Mr Stevenson, delighted at the complete change in his daughter. She knew she would have to tone it down a little for her mother, who was marginally more intelligent than her father. "But you must try to be good."

"I will try, Father, I promise," said Harriet, to all appearances bursting into tears.

Mr Stevenson was much alarmed. "I say, child, don't cry! All will be well if you marry Mr Porker!"

"Will you promise to let me out if I marry him?" sobbed Harriet with great gasps of despair.

"You know we will," said her father. "Shall I leave you to think about it overnight?"

"Yes, thank you, Father," she said gratefully, sniffing still. She waited until the panel was slid shut once more, and then danced around the room, singing to herself. Her father was falling right into her trap!

It should be said now that Harriet had never been modest. Of course, in her situation, it was hard to be. She knew she was stunning; everybody said so, and anyway, she did look in mirrors on occasion. It would have been impossible not to see it. (To do her credit, Harriet did not think much more of herself than she would have otherwise, and certainly did not place herself over anyone who, though plain, was intelligent.) And because of this knowledge of her beauty, and also of her intelligence, she was determined that if she had to marry, she would marry amazingly well. If all worked out, it was to be someone in the peerage, and as terrible as it is, should her parents have intended her for someone more handsome or intelligent than Rupert Porker, she would have hated him with the same intensity as she hated Porky, simply for not being of the peerage, and of her parent's choice.

Really, one cannot blame Harriet. No matter how low her birth in terms of the _ton,_ she deserved to be in the spotlight. A girl with such spirited character, such beauty and such intelligence is rarely seen, and if displayed to the right class of people, at once a gem of society. A lack of fortune, although regrettable, is permissible in cases such as these, and to instead throw such a girl away into the arms of a country goat at such a young age is the equivalent of throwing a diamond of the first water into the deepest depths of the sea.

Some time later, Harriet's mother mounted the stairs with her husband, listening, amazed, to the story he was telling animatedly of Harriet's apparent surrender. "I can hardly believe it!" she said suspiciously. "Can Harriet be so submissive in such a short time?"

"Well, my dear, a girl like Harriet loves her freedom," said Mr Stevenson, convinced he knew exactly what was going on. "I am sure she simply found the confinement too much."

"Hmmm," said Harriet's mother, who was a little more acquainted with the arts of her daughter. "We'll see."

They opened the locks, and quickly went in to find Harriet lying on her bed, the very picture of desolation. "Oh Mother!" she said, quickly sitting up. "Please, let me out of here!"

"Are you willing to marry Mr Porker?" asked Mrs Stevenson sternly.

"Yes, oh yes, Mother – just anything to feel the air again!"

"I don't know if I should believe you or not," said the mother, regarding her daughter critically.

"I know I have lied in the past, Mother, but this time, this time I am in earnest. Please believe me!"

Mrs Stevenson sighed. She thought. She sighed. She thought again. "I suppose I must believe you," she said reluctantly. "After all, I do want to see you married to Rupert Porker."

"Oh, thank you!" cried Harriet, running over to embrace her mother and kiss her father's cheek.

"I have spoken to Mr Porker and his parents, and you will marry him tomorrow," said Mrs Stevenson, shrugging off the only embrace she had ever had from her daughter, and frowning. "He is a little surprised, I admit, but compliant. Until then, you will remain in this room."

"I look forward to it," said Harriet, lying glibly, but smiling genuinely – at her success. "Oh, Mother, but what will I wear?"

"It does not signify what you wear, Harriet," said Mrs Stevenson repressively. "You will wear something serviceable and becoming to a female in your humble position. I imagine your tan silk will do. I shall ask Fanny to prepare it immediately."

"Will you ask her to bring it here, Mother? I fear I have lost weight since last I wore it, and she may need to adjust it."

"Of course," said Mrs Stevenson absent-mindedly, running through in her mind all that had to be done to prepare for tomorrow, and subsequently missing the look of glee that sprang to Harriet's face.

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"Oh, Harriet, what a mess you've got yourself into," grumbled Fanny, carrying the dress through the door. "If you'd just behaved a little more genteel-like . . ."

Harriet rolled her eyes, although she embraced Fanny warmly and happily. "Spare your moralising, Fanny, and lend me your ears. We don't have much time, but you have got to help me escape."

Fanny looked at her for a moment. "Oh, I see, miss, you've gone and got yourself into a right dither, and decided you can rely on me for whatever hare-brained scheme you've got up your sleeve. Well, I tell you this, Miss Harriet, I'm not goin' to risk losing my job yet again just to provoke Bedlam in this here household."

"Oh, Fanny!" said Harriet, in woebegone accents, and indeed, looking so much like she was perishing away that Fanny fell for it, yet again, and completely. "You _must_ help me, you Must! My parents are diabolical, they are like the villains in _The Black Forest_!"

Fanny gasped. "No!" Fanny had a terrible weakness for novels; a weakness that Mrs Stevenson had as yet no knowledge of, as Fanny was not even supposed to be literate. Harriet had taught the older girl to read since she was eight or so. Another of their secrets was that they were actually very good friends, even if Harriet did have a knack of winding Fanny perfectly around her finger with hardly any effort at all. If Mrs Stevenson had found out she would have instantly dismissed Fanny, for as well as being a high-stickler, she was snobbish, and would have blanched to discover that the person Harriet loved most in the household was her common abigail. And so Harriet had a secret ally in Fanny, and now was bent on using this advantage to the utmost.

"I need your help, Fanny, for there is no one else in the world who can help me," Harriet said plaintively, effectively dismissing off five or so very good friends who would have thought it great fun to assist Harriet in escaping her evil parents. (I am sorry to say it, but there it is; they would have thought it hilarious.)

Fanny leaned forward with an absurd, serious look on her face. "What must I do?" she asked solemnly.

Harriet leaned over to her so that each girl's curls were touching the other's and in a torrent of whispers communicated exactly what had to be done. A smile grew on Fanny's face as she listened. "Oh, you're a great lass, Harriet, you really are," she said. "If I only had that intelligence of yours, why, I could be prime minister, I could."

Harriet stifled a laugh at the vision of Fanny Smith giving speeches in Parliament, and thanked her friend cordially.

"You're sure it can't go wrong?" asked Fanny worriedly. "Will the missus find out it's me?"

"Never," Harriet assured her. "And if she should catch me, I promise you that even under threat of torture and the gallows I will not tell her who aided me."

Fanny smiled as she left. It was all so romantic.

Harriet picked up a small book that was lying on the floor. "A Bride Bush," she read out loud, noting her mother's name inscribed on the frontispiece, and started flicking through it. Her eyes alighted on one page in particular.

_'The whole duty of the wife is referred to two heads. The first is to acknowledge her inferiority, the next to carry herself as inferior. First then, the wife's judgement must be convinced that she is not her husband's equal, yea that her husband is her better by far: else there can be no contentment, either in her heart or in her house. If she stand upon terms of equality, much more of being better than he is, the very root of good carriage is withered, and the fountain thereof is dried up. ... If ever thou purpose to be a good wife, and to live comfortably, set down this with thy self. _Mine husband is my superior, my better: _he hath authority and rule over me: nature hath given it him, having formed our bodies to tenderness, men's to more hardness. God hath given it to him, saying to our first mother Eve, _thy desire shall be subject to him, and he shall rule over thee. _His will is the tie and tedder even of my desires and wishes. I will not strive against GOD and nature. Though my sin hath made my place tedious, yet will I confess the truth, _mine husband is my superior, my better.'

Harriet threw the book on the floor again, but she had to laugh.

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"My dear child," said Mr Stevenson comfortably, opening the door the next morning, "it is time to go."

"Yes, Father," said Harriet, standing up with a brave, anguished look on her face, as if she was going to have a tooth pulled and had decided that it was all for the best, and no matter what pain she suffered, she would endure it. "I am ready."

"I must say, Harriet, I am very proud of you," her father said. "You have changed quite remarkably these last few days. Yes, by Jove, I'm proud of you." He looked up to find a very odd expression in Harriet's eyes. It was almost like sorrow. "What's the matter, dear? You'll be a married woman soon. Aren't you excited?"

"Oh, vastly," said Harriet, with a slightly wobbly voice. To tell the truth, Harriet was affected by her father's statement. For the first time, she wished she could have been what he wanted; she wished she could have been happy with what her parents had wanted for her. Everything would have been so much easier. No, she didn't like her parents much, but if she had been a different sort of person, she could have, and sometimes she felt that deeply.

They descended the stairs, Harriet clutching her going-away bag which the faithful Fanny had filled with everything she would _not _need to go and be married. They met Mrs Stevenson downstairs, and silently drove to the church, Harriet looking appropriately nervous. "Well, Harriet," said Mrs Stevenson as they got out of the carriage, "I am glad it has come to this point at last. I think you will agree that we have always done the best we can for you and that this day is the culmination of that?"

Harriet found it very hard not to snort loudly at this, but managed to pull herself back into a feeble nod. She climbed out of the carriage on her father's arm as Porky came out of the church where he had been waiting. Rupert Porker was a rotund young man with persistently red cheeks as if he had just been involved in copious amounts of exercise, and thin yellow hair that clung to the top of his head. He had the appearance of vacuity, and piggish blue eyes, which were currently surveying his bride-to-be in a satisfied, triumphant manner. "Good morning, Mr and Mrs Stevenson – _Miss_ Stevenson," he said, emphasising the 'miss' and grinning as if he had just made the cleverest joke of the season. Harriet found it hard not to retch.

Mr Porker's younger sister Julia, a very close friend of Harriet's, followed him out of the church and smiled tentatively at Harriet. Fanny had been told to give her a message, and so she was looking neither distressed nor flabbergasted that her best friend had agreed to marry her idiotic brother.

They entered the church, and Harriet could feel herself sweating. If this didn't work . . .

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Extract from A Bride Bush : William Whately, _A bride bush,_ 1617, p.36ff.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three  
  
At the day and time appointed for Solemnization of Matrimony, the Persons to be married shall come into the body of the Church, or shall be ready in some proper house, with their friends and neighbours; and there standing together, the Man on the Right hand, and the Woman on the left, the Minister shall say,  
  
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this company, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony; which is an honourable estate, instituted of God, signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church: which holy estate Christ adorned and beautified with his presence and first miracle that he wrought in Cana of Galilee, and is commended of Saint Paul to be honourable among all men: and therefore is not by any to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly; but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God. Into this holy estate, these two persons present come now to be joined. If any man can show just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace."  
  
And also speaking unto the Persons who are to be married, he shall say, "I REQUIRE and charge you both, as ye will answer-"until he shall be interrupted by the arrival of a young Man through the back door of the church who shall call out in a loud voice, "I can!"  
  
And the minister shall thus continue until he succumbs to the realisation that some Person is actually claiming a just cause, "at the dreadful day of Judgement – goodness me!"  
  
The young man shall continue, "This man is already married!" and the bride shall collapse in nervous anguish and everything shall be thrown into kerfuffle. The parents of the bride shall jump up with faces white, the bridegroom shall continue to look at the minister with a contented and unctuous smile on his countenance, not having realised exactly what is going on, and the parents of the groom will gasp and disclaim in anger and loudly ask their son what in Heaven's name is this. Once their son has been awoken from his reverie and has been told in simple, deliberate language what is going on, he shall proclaim in surprised accents, "But I don't know who to!" And when the bride shall awaken from her assumed faint she shall scream vividly and continuously until she is rushed from the room by her fiancé's sister to be restrained and calmed, and then the groom shall begin to think that this must be a mistake and shout, "This is all WRONG!"  
  
And it was all wrong, of course. As soon as Julia shut the door after she'd dragged the screeching Harriet outside, the screams abated. "Quick, Julia, tell me – do you think it has worked?"  
  
"Yes, I'm sure," Julia grinned. "But that was the funniest thing I have seen in a while, Harriet! Did you see my brother blankly staring at the front with a stupid grin on his face while everyone else plunged themselves into chaos, because he hadn't realised yet what was going on? Did you see my parents bellowing that it was all a falsehood and how dare Marcus contaminate the reputation of their son?"  
  
"Marcus did well, didn't he?" agreed Harriet, smiling in return. "But no more conversation, Julia, I must fly."  
  
Julia's expression changed at once from merriment to sorrow. "Must you, Harriet?"  
  
"Why, you goose, of course I must," said Harriet brusquely as she picked up her bag and started running.  
  
Julia followed. "I will miss you, Harriet. Will you write to me?"  
  
"I will," promised Harriet. "Julia, I have no time for tears, and I apologise that our parting cannot be more auspicious – but I have to go."  
  
"Yes, yes, run now," said Julia, waving her off. "I must go back and act my part."  
  
Julia managed admirably well not to cry. She turned and entered the church again, where everyone turned to face her, each one confused and red-faced. "Where is she, Miss Porker?" asked the chubby clergyman.  
  
Julia put on her pensive, worried face. "I left her in the little room adjoining," she said quietly. "I fear she is much distressed. I have come to ask you not to disturb her for a while."  
  
"I must go to her and make her come out and marry him," said Mrs Stevenson at once.  
  
"No, no!" cried Julia, panicking. "She – she goes into hysterics whenever I try to speak to her, and I am persuaded that she only needs a time of quiet, solitary reflection to become herself again. Please leave her for now!"  
  
To her relief, Mrs Stevenson paused. "Yes, perhaps you are right." She turned fiercely on Marcus Turnbull. "You fool, why did you have to be so stupid?"  
  
"Mrs Stevenson!" gasped Mr Turnbull righteously. "The Bible says never to call another a fool!"  
  
Harriet's mother blushed angrily. "I ask your forgiveness then, Mr Turnbull, but ask you again, why did you have to be so stupid?"  
  
"It was an innocent mistake, ma'am! I am so sorry!" he pleaded. "I was walking through the village when I thought I heard someone say that Miss Stevenson was marrying Mr Puckett today and naturally I was very worried for my friend, because I knew that Mr Puckett was already married – and going senile. Is it not a natural reaction to try and save my friend's very respectability before she makes this ghastly mistake?"  
  
Mrs Stevenson was obviously furious. "You – you idiot!" she thundered. "How could you possibly suppose that my husband and I – we! the best Christians in the area! – would be condoning bigamy? Could you not at least verify what you heard?"  
  
"I am so sorry!" he said again. "All I know is that I heard what the man said, panicked, and sprinted for the church in all haste so as to be in time to save my friend's innocence! I apologise for all the trouble I have caused – especially for injuring the honest Mr Porker – and I will leave you now. Please accept my heartfelt apologies and prayers that all will come to good in the end." And Marcus Turnbull left the church with a secret wink to Julia, who found it hard not to laugh. Julia now thought it of the utmost importance to start another argument before anyone thought of going to check on Harriet, and prompted now a 'contemplative discourse' between Mr and Mrs Stevenson, as they liked to call them, while quite skilfully generating another between her parents and the clergyman, who had never witnessed such a vulgar lack of propriety in a wedding before, in his entire exalted career.  
  
Meanwhile, Harriet ran through the woods behind the church as fast as she could, pushing aside bushes and shrubbery, panting and never quite losing her cool, until she came to the road where John was waiting. "It worked! First attempt?" he asked, coming out from behind the curricle where he was waiting, smoking his pipe.  
  
"Yes, it worked on the first attempt, but I'm in a hurry, John," said Harriet calmly, throwing her bag onto the seat of the curricle. "Will you hand me up like a true gentleman?"  
  
"Certainly, milady," he said gravely. "So there was no need for your own proclamation of a just cause, or the last minute discovery of everything you didn't need and nothing you did in your bag, or – what was the other plan?"  
  
"To question the minister's right to marry us," said Harriet, in a rush. "Don't be unhelpful, John, you know I need to get away."  
  
He handed her up into the curricle easily. "You know we'll all miss you."  
  
Harriet paused and smiled back at him. "You don't know how much I'll miss everyone – Julia, you, Marcus, Jonathan – and how grateful I am to you all for this."  
  
He nodded, looked admiring. "By Jupiter, Harriet, I never thought you'd do something like this! You've always been daring, but this outstrips it all. You're pluck to the backbone, my girl."  
  
She reached down and shook his hand like a gentleman. "Thank you, John. Goodbye."  
  
"God bless you, Harriet."  
  
She grabbed the reins and quickly drove off, unable to hold back a few tears in the corner of her eyes, and feeling very unlike herself. But as she felt the wind on her face and thought of never again having to embroider a cushion unless she wanted to, or to be pressured to do things and be somebody she wasn't, or be restrained or caged up again, the tears left her eyes, and she smiled again. She was free! And it felt exquisite.  
  
Harriet drove for some time, and was relieved to find no one following her. She tried to take the most unpredictable route and restrained herself from stopping to talk to anyone, and kept her cloak shadowed over her face so that nobody would be able to tell that she was a woman. The last thing she wanted to do was to provoke someone's curiosity and give them something to remember her by.  
  
Harriet drove on and on all day; stopping only once to quench her thirst at a small stream. She passed only several people on the road, who looked as bored with her as she did with them. Her heart never really stopped pounding as any noise behind her bore a dreadful resemblance to the sound of Father's old trap or Mother's shoes. But these dreadful spectres failed to appear, and she continued to drive, hoping with all her heart that her parents had believed Julia if her friend had said what she was supposed to; that Harriet may have headed in the direction of her friend Louisa's home, which happened to be completely the opposite direction to where Harriet was going.  
  
Harriet was, in fact, driving on a roundabout route to the small village of Kempbrook, where a friend of John's lived, a Mrs Connie Goodrem who had laughingly promised to give her refuge for a night or two. She was sure it would be the last place her parents would look for her. 


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Mrs Goodrem was a round woman, not quite chubby, but obviously on the path to rotundity. She had red cheeks and a cheerful smile, and she wore a torn apron. Mrs Goodrem clutched a baby as she opened the cottage door for Harriet. "Come in, come in," she urged immediately. "It's obvious who you are, but I shall ask all the same – Harriet?"

Harriet smiled, relieved. Driving for hours alone was not as exciting as she had imagined it, and it allowed her terrible imagination to conjure up all sorts of horrible fates, one of which was the non-existence of Connie Goodrem. "_Very_ pleased to meet you, ma'am," she said, shaking the other woman's outstretched hand.

"None of that, none of that," the other replied. "I am never ma'am, or even Mrs Goodrem. It's Connie I'm known as by all, and if you try to call me anything else I shan't realise you're talking to me. Not very genteel, I suppose, but then, I am not precisely genteel."

Harriet laughed. "Nor I, Connie. John sends his warmest regards."

"Ah, sweet John," Connie smiled. "Did he tell you what he did for me?"

"I don't think so."

"Then come in, and I shall tell you. By the by, this is my youngest, Penny," she said, ruffling the baby's hair. "And there are two more, and I'm expecting. Please don't let them overwhelm you; they are very boisterous."

"I don't mind noise," said Harriet, and followed Connie inside.

"Take a seat, Harriet," Connie said, pulling a little boy off one. "This is Miss Stevenson, Johnny, and she's going to stay with us for several nights. Mind you be good?" Johnny giggled and ran away. Connie sighed, and turned to Harriet. "How was your journey?"

"Oh, it was bearable," said Harriet. "A little long for my liking, all by myself. I become bored easily in situations like that. Forgive me; how did John help you?"

"Oh, in much the same way as he helped you," Connie said. "It may not seem so from the house and my appearance and all – and I'm sorry for the house not being the type you must be used to – but I am the daughter of a baronet. I fell in love with a farmer near our home, and my father obviously would not allow the match. John, well," she blushed, "John happened to fall in love with me, and he popped the question, and I told him I could not, on account of Thomas – that's the farmer I was in love with. Well, he could tell I was miserable not being able to marry Thomas, and he organised an elopement for us, and even sold us this farmland – all because he wanted to make sure I was happy. He is a very good man. So you see, he has a penchant of sorts for interfering with matrimony."

Harriet was smiling. "He never told me."

"Yes, I don't think he would. It's not his way to gloat," said Connie. "Tom and I named the boy after him, and he was very pleased."

"Is your husband working in the fields at the moment?"

Connie looked uncomfortable. "No. Tom died a few months ago."

"I am very sorry," said Harriet. "Then how do you live now? – forgive me for being curious."

"It's perfectly fine," said Connie. She hesitated. "Well, because we own land, the children became wards of the state. John bought them back, and he helps pay our expenses – it's only until we've sorted out our affairs and got a reliable farmer and so on, mind. I would feel a right scrounge if I allowed him to pay for everything." She laughed. "Do you mind if I change the subject? Forgive me for asking – where are you going when you leave here?"

Harriet paused, and felt her stomach sink back from interested-slash-comfortable down to that oh-no-what-am-I-going-to-do feeling. "I'm not exactly sure," she said slowly.

"Not exactly sure," repeated Connie, a worried look on her face.

"Well, I'm have all my savings with me, and I have several plans. I will probably stay at an inn for a while and try to make some rich friends. If that doesn't work, I may become a governess or something for some time. Oh, I have hundreds of plans whirling around in my head, Connie, don't look so worried. I just need some time to sort them out. If the worst comes to the worst, I have an aunt I can go to. I'm sure she will help me."

Connie smiled. "I'm glad of that. I just hope you'll take care of yourself. I know you've not quite enjoyed living at home for the last few years-"

"For my whole life, more accurately," muttered Harriet.

Connie continued, undaunted. "-but despite your aversion to the place, I know it has been a very safe place, and even if the people have been boring, they are good, decent people. They would never try to trick you, or rob you, or hurt you in anyway. The whole world is not like that. I should know, Harriet."

"Yes, I know," admitted Harriet grudgingly. The interesting thing was her mother and father had always tried to tell her the same thing, but hearing it from Connie was so different. They sat quietly for a while. "Connie?"

"Yes?"

"I think I will change my name."

"Good idea, Harriet. Have you any ideas?"

"Yes," said Harriet. "I think I will be ... Alexandra." She spoke the name in a whisper, almost as if it were something magical.

Connie laughed. "You've been imagining yourself with that name all your life, have you not?"

Harriet grinned. "Well, 'Harriet Stevenson' is not exactly romantic."

"Quite right," agreed Connie. "What about your surname?"

"Hmm," said Harriet. She thought for some minutes, and she thought when Connie got up to go and wake her middle child Emma, and she thought while Connie cooked dinner. "Wells," she announced as they sat down to eat.

"Pardon me?" asked Connie through a mouthful of beans.

"Wells," she said again. "I shall be Alexandra Wells."

"Lovely!" said Connie approvingly. "That name evokes pictures. I can see it all now – beautiful, mysterious heiress. Aloof but playful, in a sense. Eats rich food like fruit cake and plum pudding. Wears velvet dresses of red and forest green. Men cannot resist her. That is a perfect name."

Harriet laughed. "Thank you. I must say I quite like it myself. From now on I shall be..."she lowered her voice to a sultry whisper, "Alexandra... Alexandra Wells."

Harriet stayed with Connie and her children for a week. She had never had so much fun in her life. She learnt to milk cows, she spent long afternoons playing hide-and-seek with Johnny and Emma, she helped Connie cook – a chore she had always thought would be strenuous and a bore, but which she actually enjoyed a lot. There was something very satisfying about creating a dish, and then sitting down and enjoying it. After the children had gone to bed at night, Harriet and Connie would sit up and laugh and eat home-made fudge and discuss world affairs.

As the astute reader may have noticed, she was still Harriet to Connie and the children. She could hardly be called Alexandra Wells while she rolled about in hay and fed the pigs. And anyway, she found that Alexandra was a very nice name, but not something she was quite used to, and she decided to stay Harriet for now, at least.

Despite the wonderful time she was having, Harriet knew she would have to leave at some point, and that it would be sooner rather than later. There was no doubt that Connie loved having her, and that she would happily keep her on, but Harriet's conscience was starting to prick, and she decided to be off soon before she could change her mind.

The children were sad when Harriet packed her bags and brought out the black cloak again and got the curricle ready for a journey. She was heading for an inn not far away from London. She didn't know what she was going to do once she ran out of money to stay there. Maybe she would go and visit Aunt Elizabeth – what a surprise that would give her aunt! But she did not want to have to do that unless she had to. Aunt Elizabeth was very kind and funny, but her parents would probably expect her to go in that direction, and also, Aunt Elizabeth may not exactly approve of keeping her location hidden.

She hugged Connie tightly, the morning she left, and thanked her very warmly.

"You know you can always come back if you're in any trouble?" asked Connie seriously.

"Yes, Connie, and thank you."

"I'll miss you, Harriet," said Connie, suddenly throwing her arms around the slight girl, a tear pricking at the corner of her eye. "You'll be in my prayers every morning and every night."

"Thank you, Connie," mumbled Harriet, trying not to succumb to tears either.

It was growing darker as Harriet's curricle trundled along an increasingly identical-seeming road, about four hours after she had left Kembrook. Harriet was desperately bored, mumbling half-learnt poems to herself, singing quietly to what sounded suspiciously like beer-drinking tunes, and finally doing absolutely _nothing_ – simply gazing blankly at the horse's head and the road ahead. She had the hood pulled up over her head again, as it was getting colder – she did not really expect to see anyone looking for her on this road, a few weeks after she had run away.

Suddenly! A bang! Three horses came galloping towards her, holding rifles in the air. They had fired above the curricle and now pulled up in front of the curricle, their weapons levelled upon Harriet. All at once she was awake, tense and wondering what she should do.

"Stand and deliver!" shouted one of the three masked men in a high-pitched squeak, gesturing with his gun. He was obviously nervous. "Come on! Hop out of the cab! And no funny business."

The languor of the man beside him suggested a total opposite approach to plunder on the King's highway. One could almost suppose from the way he sat and moved that he was rolling his eyes at the other man. But he said nothing.

"How dare you," said Harriet, scowling, and standing up slowly.

"Oi!" cried the first man. "I said, no funny business!"

"Oh, for Pete's sake, Ned!" said the third man, a tall, strong-looking man. "He's just obligingly getting out of his vehicle for you, twit. Leave him be."

The humour of this statement from someone who had just accosted her and was very likely going to steal all her possessions struck Harriet at once. She giggled. He looked at her with a slight smile, but returned to training his gun on her. "What have you got on you, sir?" he said, politely enough.

"Not much," said Harriet, trying to keep her voice indistinct.

The second man sat up a little straighter. "Would you please pull back your hood, sir?"

Harriet hesitated.

"Pull back your hood," he said again, imperiously.

"Oh, for goodness' sake, don't order me about," she said angrily, and pulled back her hood. The three men were silent for about three seconds.

"Oh begad, it's a lady!" cried Ned. "What are we going to do?"

"Shut your face, Ned," said the languid one, looking at Harriet closely. "We apologise for harassing you, ma'am, and of course will allow you to go on your way unharmed – and not deprived of any of your possessions."

Harriet smiled. "What if I will not let you go?"

The third man stifled a laugh. "You may not have a choice, miss."

Harriet's eyes flashed. "If you had an ounce of honour and gentility, you would turn yourself in at the nearest village in shame for taking advantage of a poor woman so."

"Well, we didn't _know_ you was a woman," said Ned.

"You didn't know!" steamed on Harriet. "That is no excuse whatsoever! Why, if _I _had any decency whatsoever, I would pull out the gun that is in my pocket right now and shoot all three of you, and rid England of desperate criminals who deserve to be shot!"

"Why don't you then, ma'am?" asked the languid one smoothly.

Harriet smiled. "I rather like the thought of highwaymen," she said candidly. "I didn't know any existed."

His lip curled, as the third man started to laugh. "Well well," he said, smiling still. "Admirable."

"Miss," said the third man, recovered from his brief attack of laughter, "what are you doing here?"

"Whatever it is, she can't be up to any good," said the second man dryly, before unbending swiftly and collapsing into tears of laughter with the other two before Harriet's amazed eyes.

"I am running away," said Harriet calmly, as they finished.

"What from?" asked the third man disapprovingly.

"Marriage," she yawned. "Now, will you perhaps be so good as to let me pass?"

"No, I will not!" cried the third man, sitting up tall in the saddle. "What, a young slip like you, riding around the country free as a lark? Something terrible could happen! Ned here nearly shot you simply for standing up!"

Harriet turned to the second man. "Pray, will you please ask your friend to move?"

He was staring at her still, his hand on his chin thoughtfully. "I have a plan."

"Excuse me, gentlemen, but did you hear what I just asked you?" said Harriet.

"I have a plan, ma'am," he repeated.

"What is it?" she said reluctantly, tapping her pocket watch and sighing.

"You can come with us," he said. "We'll be your guardians. Do you have anywhere to go?" There was a pregnant pause. "No, I thought not. I will be your brother, Ned your groom and William here your uncle. Or something like that. You can assist us in our.. ahem... work."

"That's insane," said Harriet, trying to sound scornful but only managing to sound overly excited.

For the first time, the second man grinned, and Harriet wondered who he was. "Of course it is. Are you coming?"


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

Harriet felt almost a little shy as she got down from her carriage outside the inn. "We have semi-permanent lodgings here. Discreet innkeeper," whispered William Hewat, who had rode in the carriage with her, giving her directions, as the other two took a short-cut through the forest.

His mask was now off. He was a man built for strength, with kindly eyes, and he was probably about forty years of age. Not at all dashing, as Harriet had supposed all highwaymen to be, but something better than that. He was steady. Obviously the sort of man one could depend on to do the right thing. Wait a moment, what was she thinking? He was a _highwayman_, for crying out loud! She wondered how he had gotten into it. He didn't seem the type of man, from first appearances, to take up such a career voluntarily.

As he held open the door for her, she found herself wondering what the second man looked like, but she banished that thought quickly, and followed Mr Hewat into the parlour he led her to, past the bewildered landlord – Hewat fobbed him off with a whispered, "My niece!"

"Oh, your niece," said the landlord smugly, and Harriet's cheeks brightened angrily as she realised what he was thinking.

But before the man could think much further, Mr Hewat had given him a thunderous glare, and said a little louder, "My niece _and_ a lady."

"S-sorry," said Gorch, (as Harriet later found out was his name), bobbing slightly, rather like a nervous chambermaid. Harriet could tell immediately that Hewat was no object of disrespect around the place. Her curiosity heightened.

A pair of clear grey eyes greeted her with a smile and a shake of the hand as she entered the room. "Good evening, ma'am." She was surprised by his appearance; he was unmistakeably genteel looking, with impeccably chosen dress and an air of careless fashion.

"Good evening," she said disdainfully, belying her thoughts, and sitting down carefully on one of the settees. "I presume you are our other highwayman? The mad one? May I know your name?"

"Around here you will hear me called Hugh Massey," he replied, sitting down languidly, and watching Harriet with a smile in his eyes.

"Yes, but that is not your name, is it?"

"What is _your _name, ma'am?" he countered.

"I am Alexandra Wells, sir."

"Yes, but that is not your name, is it?"

She had to laugh. "All right, then, sir, if you will tell me your real name, I will tell you mine."

"I drive a harder bargain than that," he said, laughing.

"What more can you want?" she asked, raising her little black eyebrows.

"I want to know why you are running away."

"I told you."

"I want to know the whole story," he said persistently.

"Fine, I'll tell you, sir," she said. "I do not think you are very gentlemanlike! But I want to know why you are a highwayman. Now, what is your name?"

"His name is Lord Hugh Fitzroy, seventh Earl of Carnell," said Mr Hewat lazily, pouring himself a glass of wine as Carnell hesitated.

"Oh, so you're a peer, then," said Harriet calmly, her heart beating secretly as she realised the luck of her situation. "Thank you," she said as she took a glass handed her by Hewat. She turned her attention to Carnell again. "You must get very bored. What may I call you by?"

"Mr Massey," said Carnell, gritting his teeth at Mr Hewat.

"No, but what do I think of you as, then?"

"Lord Carnell, I suppose," he said sulkily. "Now tell me your name."

"Oh, I'm just plain Harriet Stevenson," she replied, yawning. "Obvious why I changed my name, is it not?"

"May I call you Harry?" he asked, eyes twinkling.

"No, you may not," she said fiercely.

"Oh, but if you're to be my sister..."

"Then you may call me Alexandra to my face and you may think of me as Miss Stevenson. You do not know how much I abhor the name Harry. My brother Dick tried to call me by it. I hate him and I hate that name."

Carnell raised his eyebrows. "I take it you do not like your brother?"

She grinned mischievously for a moment. "No, I don't like any of them. It may seem very unwomanly and ungracious and all that tosh, but if you knew them, you would know why I don't care a jot for any of them. Nor for my parents. They tried to marry me to Rupert Porker."

Carnell's eyes widened. "All at once I am beginning to understand. Rupert _Porker!_ I assume he is the reason for your flight?"

"Yes. My parents couldn't make me marry him. So they locked me in a room until I said I would. But I never meant to. I tricked them in the church and ran away. And here I am!" She smiled happily.

"Wait a moment," said Mr Hewat seriously. "You mean you just ran away from the church, and turned up here – with a curricle? You didn't steal it, did you?"

She laughed. "No!"

Carnell tried not to smile. "Well?"

"_Well_, I arranged for a friend to come running in proclaiming a just impediment, I went into hysterics, and ran into the back room with my best friend, who covered for me. Then I ran through the woods, where another friend was waiting with the curricle, and I went to his friend's home for a couple of weeks and today I was driving to London, when I met you!"

"Oh, I see, just driving to London," said Mr Hewat sarcastically.

"Yes," said Harriet, oblivious, "and I am beginning to think it was quite a stroke of luck that I met you!"

"Why is that?" said Carnell, amused.

"Well, it is quite a lot more pleasant to stay at an inn _with_ people than without."

"I have no doubt you would have made friends quickly," said Mr Hewat.

"Thank you," said Harriet, looking at him suspiciously. "I am not sure whether that was a compliment or that it was not. Lord Carnell – Mr Massey, I should say – you still have to answer _my_ question."

"Why it is that I am a highwayman," he said blandly. He shrugged. "Why is a nobleman ever a highwayman?"

"I don't know, why is he?" said Harriet with a grin.

Carnell had to smile. "I am down on my luck," he said gloomily. "Too much gambling, too much profligacy, too little decency, I am told. To tell the plain and awful truth, I ran out of money and have to make a little on the highway until I receive my next year's payment. Thought it would be amusing. Luckily it's only a few weeks until the payment."

"Don't you believe it, Miss Stevenson," said Hewat seriously. "He had to pay off all his younger brother's debts and scandals. That's why he is in this mess."

Carnell yawned. "I really wish you would not always defend my innocence, William; I am beginning to lose my reputation. Well, there you have it, Miss Stevenson. Alexandra." He looked around. "Where is Ned?"

"In the stables," said Hewat. "You just changed the subject."

"May I come robbing with you?" asked Harriet humbly.

Two faces stared up at her at once. "What are you talking about?" snapped Mr Hewat.

"May I come robbing with you?" said Harriet slowly, for their benefit.

"No," said Carnell, and turned back to Hewat.

"Please?" she begged. "I've always wanted to be a highwaywoman. It's so romantic."

"No, and it's our bedtimes," said Mr Hewat in his best now-that's-final voice. "Goodnight, Miss Stevenson. Goodnight, Hugh."

"Goodnight, William," said Carnell, getting wearily up from the sofa. "Sleep well, Miss Stevenson. I believe Mrs Gorch has a room ready for you beside our apartments."

Harriet considered pressing him again, but he didn't seem the sort of man to bend that easily, and she was tired. There would be plenty of time for persuasiveness in the morning.

Harriet considered her appearance in the mirror. It was a difficult question. Should she go for overly ravishing and make them gape and agree to anything she asked? Or would that simply make them more overly cautious and refuse to take her? Maybe she should look tough. She wasn't sure she knew how; looking innocent and fragile had always been the most useful means of making people do what she wanted.

She decided to go for ravishing. Not too much so, or she would look coquettish and sadly out of place in an obscure country inn. But if she looked just a _little _bit saucy, it may make her look stronger. Harriet grinned at herself in the mirror after she had put on her red velvet pelisse and matching ribbons, her hair arranged in a lopsided little knot on the top of her head. The dress she wore had not been as revealing as it was now; it had been made under the strict instructions of Mrs Stevenson. However, Harriet had altered it to emulate the current fashion. Not for nothing had she endured those afternoons of embroidery. And now she drew herself up tall, and marched down the stairs very strongly, all for the benefit of the charwoman standing awed below.

Lord Carnell blinked as she entered the room, but beyond that, took no apparent notice of the fact that she was ravishing. Hewat was simply engrossed in his porridge, absenting himself from it just long enough to say, "Morning," before diving back into it again, looking up sporadically at the week-old newspaper in front of him.

Harriet was disappointed that her entrance had not been as grand as she had hoped, but sat down undaunted, hoping to make up for it in time. "Good morning, gentlemen," she said calmly. "It is a lovely morning, is it not?"

Carnell looked out the window. "Is it?" Ominous black clouds were rolling across the sky and already a few speckles of rain were dotting the window. He looked back at her. "Have you looked outside, Miss Stevenson?"

Harriet ignored her faux pas. "I like rain," she said, smiling radiantly and helping herself to coffee.

Carnell raised his eyebrows. "To each his own. Oh, by the way, I have been thinking – we should probably call you Harriet while you are here, Harriet Massey, as you are to be my sister. I can't quite picture you Alexandra. And you must call me Hugh, and William Uncle."

"Oh yes, that sounds perfect, Hugh," said Harriet breezily, although she wanted to argue about not being Alexandra. "And I have been thinking; I really would like to come robbing with you. And it would be quite safe; I could be a decoy on the road. I honestly think-"

"Stop right now, Harriet," growled Hewat, not looking up from his porridge. "There is no way in heaven or below that I would ever allow you to come with us robbing. Anyway, it is only a few weeks before we can stop this foolish game and return to our ordinary lives."

Harriet looked crestfallen. "Please may I?" she whispered. "I would really be no trouble at all. You _said_ I could assist you." She sighed her most fetching sigh and put a hand to her bosom. "You are breaking my heart."

"Female histrionics won't work with highwaymen, darling," said Hewat. "You tell her, Hugh."

"Yes, Harriet, I'm afraid I have to break your heart," said Carnell, not looking in the least sorry, his mouth half full of toast. "It would be entirely inappropriate. After all, decorum is everything in our line of work." And the two men both suddenly erupted into laughter like they had the previous night, utterly bemusing Harriet and putting her entirely off her ravishing approach.

She scowled. "It's not fair. Why do men get to do everything?"

"Sorry, my dear. That's how it is," smiled Hewat.

"I think I am a feminist," said Harriet, intent on shocking.

"Oh, are you?" said Carnell disinterestedly, cutting up his bacon.

Harriet was most annoyed. Her mother would have threatened a whipping and banished her to her room for the day if the slightest suspicion of what Harriet had just said to Carnell occurred to Mrs Stevenson. She gave a sniff of displeasure and turned her attention to her porridge.

After she had not said anything for a few minutes, Carnell looked over at her with that unreadable smile on his face. "I'm sorry, Harriet. It just wouldn't be right. Plunder on the highway is not always as danger-free as our experience with you was last night. When I said you could help us, I meant as a look-out at the inn, or things like that."

"Danger-free!" cried Harriet. "How can you say that? I threatened to shoot you!"

"You didn't have a gun," said Hewat dryly.

Harriet didn't speak to them for about fifteen more minutes.


End file.
